Chapter 16 #2
“I hadn’t noticed. You know, until now.” I ripped my sleeve where the bullet had torn through. I tore the material away from my arm to get a better look at the wound. “Just a graze.” I winced as I wiped the blood off with the torn bit of material. “Stings like a mother bitch.”
"Medical team's outside," Hotwire reported. "We're ready to move to the safe house."
I nodded, pressing a hand against my bleeding arm. “Did we get them all?”
Jack approached as I spoke. “Goddamned right we got em’ all.”
"Start moving the girls out. Keep them as calm as you can." Vittorio and some of his men helped the girls move out. Some of the girls had to be carried and my heart broke a little for the lives forever altered.
Ghost caught my eye again across the room, this time with a slight jerk of his head toward my bleeding arm. I shook my head, waving off the injury. He frowned but gave a grudging nod of understanding.
Blood and shell casings now covered the warehouse floor, telling the story of our night's work in crimson smears and brass glints under harsh lights.
The last Copperhead lay face down in a spreading puddle of blood, no longer a threat to anyone.
The gunfire stopped ten minutes ago, replaced by the soft sobbing of traumatized women and the low, reassuring voices of our team as they guided them toward help and freedom.
I stood by the loading dock, my arm throbbing in time with my heartbeat, watching as Marcus helped get everyone loaded into three separate vehicles.
"You count twelve?" I asked him, scanning the huddled forms wrapped in emergency blankets provided by Vittorio's team.
"Fourteen," Marcus corrected, his voice rough from shouting commands during the firefight. "Found two more locked in a supply closet at the back. Both alive, both need medical attention."
I nodded, relief flooding through me despite the pain radiating from my arm. Looked like my time in hell with the Copperheads had paid off.
"We’ve got them all loaded," Bug called from the main entrance, his voice carrying across the emptied warehouse. "Ready to roll."
"Get them to Vittorio's safehouse," I instructed, moving toward the vehicles parked outside. "Medical team first, then food, then rest. No questions tonight, no bullshit. Just help them feel human again."
Bug nodded, his normally tech-obsessed demeanor replaced by solemn purpose. "Ghost wants confirmation when they're secure."
"I'll call him myself once they're settled," Vittorio promised. “Might want to get that looked at, Rocky.”
I winced, finally acknowledged the state of my arm. I hadn’t even realized I’d been hit. Graze or not. The bullet had carved a deep furrow, blood soaking my sleeve and dripping from my fingertips in a steady rhythm.
“Yeah. I’ll get all over that.”
The convoy pulled away ten minutes later, headlights cutting through the darkness as they carried their precious cargo into the night.
Behind us, cleanup crews moved in to start their work.
Vittorio called them in to make sure no trace remained anything had happened here.
By morning, nothing would be here to connect us to this bloodbath.
The Copperhead operation lay in ruins, most of its leaders dead, its infrastructure shattered, its victims rescued.
Acid was still in the wind, but catching him would only be a matter of time.
I climbed into Marcus's SUV, finally allowing myself to slump against the seat as exhaustion and possibly blood loss caught up with me. The adrenaline that carried me through the fight ebbed away, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and the stinging reality of my wound.
"Compound or hospital?" Marcus asked, starting the engine.
"Compound," I answered without hesitation. "Their medic can handle this." And I wanted to get back to Wren.
The drive passed in a blur. By the time we reached the Bound in Blood compound, the edges of my vision darkened with each blink, but my arm seemed to be blessedly numb.
The compound buzzed with activity despite the late hour. Word of the raid's success traveled fast, bringing members, their old ladies, and not a few club whores out to witness our return.
I stepped from the SUV, the ground shifting slightly under my feet. Someone – Jack maybe? – steadied me with a hand on my shoulder, guiding me toward the clubhouse.
“Go get that cleaned.” Jack had his hand clamped on my shoulder as he guided me through the clubhouse. “Bettin’ you need a few stitches too.”
“Just needs some disinfectant and water to clean the dried blood.”
“And possibly a round of antibiotics.” Sawbones, the club’s doctor met us at the door to the clinic. “Have a seat and let me see what you did to yourself.”
If I’d been a little stronger, I’d have told him to fuck off. Instead, I sat there passively while the other man cleaned and bandaged my arm.
"The bullet literally grazed your arm," he noted, probing the edges of torn flesh. "Tore a hunk of skin but didn’t make it through to the muscle. gonna hurt like a bitch for a while, but you’ll live."
The door swung open as Sawbones finished tying down the bandage. Ghost stood in the threshold, his posture stiff, his expression stormy beneath the silver-streaked hair. He dismissed the doc with a jerk of his chin, waiting until we had privacy before stepping fully into the room.
"You look like shit," he observed, his voice gruff but lacking the open hostility I'd grown accustomed to.
"Feel like shit," I admitted, experimentally flexing my fingers to ensure everything still worked.
Ghost approached slowly, coming to stand a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes tracked from my bandaged arm to my face, assessing.
"You proved yourself tonight," he said finally, the words dragged out like they pained him to speak. "Saw how you put those girls first."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Coming from Ghost, this qualified as effusive praise.
A heavy silence fell between us, filled with unspoken words and lingering suspicion. Ghost might have seen enough to reassess me, but years of protective instinct didn't disappear in a single night.
"Wren's been asking about you," he said finally, the words clearly difficult for him. "Waiting to hear if you made it back in one piece."
My heart jumped at her name. "I need to see her."
"Yeah," Ghost agreed, though his jaw tightened. "You can... talk to her." He emphasized the word like a warning, a reminder of boundaries still firmly in place.
"Thank you," I said, meaning it.
Ghost merely grunted and turned to leave. At the door, he paused without looking back. "Be careful with that arm. You get gangrene, it'll upset Wren."
The door closed behind him, and I had to stifle a chuckle.
For one, Ghost would have my head if he heard.
Second, everything hurt too Goddamned much.
Again, one of those delayed reactions. I must have taken a few more hits than I’d realized at the time.
Ghost hadn’t offered me forgiveness, exactly, but a crack in his wall of disliking-me-on-principle was definitely a start.
A grudging acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to make myself worthy of his daughter after all.
Movement in the hallway caught my eye through the partially open door. Wren stood there, her purple hair unmistakable even in the dim light. She must have overheard the exchange with Ghost, her lips curving into a cautious smile as our eyes met.
That smile hit me like a shot of pure adrenaline, washing away pain and exhaustion in an instant. Ghost's tentative approval meant something, but Wren's smile meant everything. I struggled to my feet, determined to cross the distance between us despite the room's sudden tendency to tilt.
Ghost might have granted me permission to talk to her, but the way she looked at me now promised much more than conversation.
And for the first time since this whole mess began, I allowed myself to believe we might actually have a future.
Just surviving the night no longer felt like the end game.
Building something real from the ashes of deception and violence that brought us together looked better and better all the time. And maybe even a real possibility.
The light in her eyes told me she believed it too.